


call me when you're in the city again

by emeraldcitydowntowngirl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Sex, Drabble, Hiatus fic, I know im disappointed too, M/M, Top!Pete, bottom!patrick, kinda out of character but like. in character 4 how I write them, my version of a drabble is a 4k fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 21:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19159534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldcitydowntowngirl/pseuds/emeraldcitydowntowngirl
Summary: Patrick groans loudly. He wants to tell Pete to fuck off. He wants to tell Pete that he got the wrong Twitter handle, that the Patrick he’s looking for actually isn’t behind the @patrickstump account even though that would be outrageously dumb. He wants to go on a rant on how the whole ‘gay above the waist’ thing isn’t sounding too ‘above the waist’ right now. However, when his fingers hit the keys, this is what comes out instead:Half an hour.You’re paying me back for the cab ride.(OR: The one where Pete sends Patrick a dick pic and then they hook up and talk about feelings and shit.)





	call me when you're in the city again

**Author's Note:**

> lets pretend that twitter DMs were introduced in 2011. imagine Pete sending a dick pic to all of twitter w Patrick's account tagged lmaooooo 'Patrick! this is my version of standing outside your window w a boombox <3 lets fuckin bang!'
> 
> inspired by a convo that me and ness cleffairie had on tumblr <3 holy wow indeed :)

Pete is admittedly _preeeeeeetty_ drunk when he contacts Patrick for the first time in six months. It’s not a rare occurrence, the drunk thing. He does that a lot. And he gets into fist fights? And he rides a motorcycle and he gets breakfast with Gabe at five in the morning and he paints a lot when he’s not with Bronx. He never thought he’d be doing _this_ at thirty two. But it’s not so bad.

Except right now. _This_ is bad.

He’s in the bathroom. One hand holding his phone, one hand on his hard dick. He looks at it through his phone screen, at how incriminating this whole thing is. Like, that’s _clearly_ his hand. That’s _clearly_ his tattoo. That’s _clearly_ his dick. _Everyone_ has seen it, everyone knows that’s clearly his fucking dick.

He takes a picture and then he deletes that picture because the lighting is weird. He switches his place in the bathroom so that he’s facing the mirror and the vanity lights.

It’s no secret that Pete’s at a shitty place in his life. He certainly looks like it too. There’s no Ashlee, there’s no Fall Out Boy, and half of the time there’s no Bronx. It’s strange, though. That he’s found a home with Travie and Gabe. A home that he can’t really see himself living in for longer than a year before he _actually_ loses his mind… but it’s still a home. New York City in November is cold in a way that Chicago isn’t. It’s so different that it’s become familiar in a way that Chicago can’t be anymore. All he’s used to nowadays is exploring new places and meeting new people… and plus, going back to Chicago means being in the same place as Patrick and he can’t be in the same place as Patrick when he’s not in the same place as Patrick. If that makes sense.

Pete’s drunk, it makes sense.

He takes the picture, a better picture, though it’s still a picture of his dick and it’s still going to be ugly either way, and he sends it to Patrick through his twitter DMs with his new address attached. And then he waits.

* * *

Patrick doesn’t usually really check his Twitter, unless he’s standing in line for coffee or in the bathroom. However, tonight is an exception. He’s cycled through the channels on the hotel room TV approximately seven times, to no avail. It’s sad that he’s sitting in his shared hotel room alone in the city that never sleeps, the great New York City, instead of socializing and spending time with friends but… y’know. There’s his phone to keep him entertained. It’d be unhealthy to go to another bar. Michael said so.

So, he scrolls through Twitter. And then, out of curiosity, he checks his DMs.

Three accounts down the line is a name that, when Patrick says it in his head, legitimately puts a bad taste in his mouth. _petewentz_. Pete.

The same Pete that, when he tried to text Patrick after an awkward hangout session at Joe’s place, Patrick pretended that he had changed his number. _Not_ one of Patrick’s best moments. He still remembers rolling his eyes at the sight of Pete’s contact name, typing  ‘New phone, who’s this?’, and throwing his phone across the couch.

The preview of Pete’s DM is an address in New York City. The city where Patrick is currently stationed. The first thought to come into Patrick’s mind is that Pete is a fucking creep who got ahold of the hotel where Patrick was staying and sent it to Patrick to… prove something? But Patrick knows Pete, _unfortunately_ , and he knows that Pete isn’t that insane. Er, anymore. So, he clicks on it.

“Holy wow,” Patrick says to himself, breathlessly.

Okay. So he wasn’t expecting that one.

He looks around the room to make sure that no one is there, even though he _knows_ that no one is with him, he knows that no one is watching, and he glances back at the screen again. _Fuckin’ Pete_ , he thinks. _He thinks he can seduce me with a shitty picture of his dick. Yeah right. Yeah… right._

 **Are you kidding me,** Patrick types back. His hands shake with anger. And something else.

**I thought you were only gay above the waist.**

**Or whatever bullshit story you were going with.**

Pete’s reply comes back quickly.

_are u coming? yes or no. i dont have all night._

Patrick groans _loudly_. He wants to tell Pete to fuck off. He wants to tell Pete that he got the wrong Twitter handle, that the Patrick he’s looking for actually isn’t behind the @patrickstump account even though that would be _outrageously_ dumb. He wants to go on a rant on how the whole ‘gay above the waist’ thing isn’t sounding too ‘above the waist’ right now. However, when his fingers hit the keys, this is what comes out instead:

**Half an hour.**

**You’re paying me back for the cab ride.**

* * *

“What’re you doing?” Travie asks Pete as he half-heartedly tidies up the living room. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this when it’s his room that should be cleaned. There are used tissues on the floor, from a particularly rewarding crying session a day ago. He knows that his bed isn’t made but they’re going to make a mess anyways. There are dirty clothes on the floor but that’s what the floor is for, isn’t it.

“I’m expecting _a guest,_ ” Pete tells Travie, and he doesn’t respond to the confused expression on Travie’s face. He just tosses a stray slice of pizza in the garbage. And then he frowns because that was probably good.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Travie laughs, shaking his head. He watches the hurricane that _is_ Pete from his spot in the hallway between the living room and the kitchen- this is Travie’s favorite painting spot. “You? At 11 o’clock at night? Who’s the lucky girl? Is it that model Gabe’s been trying to hook you up with?”

The model in question is actually really sweet, but Pete’s not in the mood to pretend to be someone he’s not, at least not tonight. At the root of it all, Patrick knows him best. He doesn’t have to hide when he’s with Patrick, he can be his selfish and shitty self and Patrick would know exactly what he was getting himself into. No one can blame Pete for false promises, Patrick knows better than to expect anything truly good from Pete.  

“No…” Pete grumbles. “You’ll laugh at me if you knew who.”

“Oh, I’m _definitely_ catching a glimpse now,” Travie grins devilishly, 

just as the buzzer rings. And he makes kissy faces at Pete as Pete rolls his eyes and lets Patrick in. “Is it someone we know? Is that why you don’t want to tell me?”

Pete doesn’t reply to this. There’s no way that he can sneak Patrick in here anyways, Travie’s question will be answered in no time. However, the minute or two that it takes Patrick to take the elevator up is excruciating to wait through. Part of Pete wishes he did some more, like… research. He’s not even sure what Patrick looks like anymore. He remembers _thin_ , how could he not? That’s all anyone talked about with him when Patrick was mentioned. _Have you seen how good Patrick looks? Patrick looks great with his weight loss!_

Patrick is so much more than that to Pete. The last thing that comes to Pete’s mind when he thinks about Patrick is weight. And yet… that’s all Pete can really think of when he thinks of This Patrick. Because This Patrick is a stranger. Pete knows better than to expect an oversized hoodie and a beanie when he opens the door. He’s listened to Soul Punk once, he’s studied the cover art for a while, so he sort of prepares himself to see Patrick in full suit mode.

He looks down at his pajamas.

He stands near the door and waits. He’s not even being subtle about it, like… at all. He just stands behind the door and waits for the sound of footsteps. A moment later, the elevator doors open and he hears Patrick murmuring to himself outside, trying to find the right door.

Pete’s heart begins to race. This is so fucking stupid.

“Hey,” Pete says, standing in the doorframe. “I know it’s kinda confusing. They don’t alternate numbers like on streets.”

Patrick narrows his eyes a little, trying to evaluate if Pete is being a dick or not.

“Yeah, a little…” Patrick admits, after a beat. “Uh. Hey.”

Pete offers to take Patrick’s jacket once they’re inside, and Patrick looks at him like he’s a crazy person.

“What are you doing?” Patrick asks.

“I don’t know! Trying to be a good host!”

“But why? We’re just— listen, I have to get back to my bus really early, so—“

Pete sputters. “So, what, we’re just gonna fuck, and then you’re going to leave?!”

“Pete. You fucking sent me a picture of your dick and your address! _Yes_!”

“Fine…” Pete shrugs. “Let’s do it your way.”

There’s an echo of Patrick’s voice in Pete’s head when Pete grabs Patrick and kisses him. _We don’t fight fair._ Nothing about this makes any sense whatsoever, nothing at all, this is not his Patrick, but this _is_ Patrick. His Patrick would not push Pete away just to pin him to another surface, just to claw at his clothes. He’s never even really kissed Patrick before, though those mental images have danced behind his eyelids at the craziest and most inopportune times.

If Travie stayed out to see who Pete’s mystery hook-up was, which Pete knows he did, he’s not here anymore. Not as Pete leads Patrick to his bedroom, not as they slam the door shut loud enough for Pete’s mind to clear momentarily of _PatrickPatrickPatrickPatrickPatrick’smouthonmineWhatthefuckishappeningPatrick’smakingoutwithmePatrickPatrickPatrickPatrickWhatishedoingIsheokayThisisnormalformeThisisnotPatrick’ssceneatall_

“What’s wrong?” Patrick asks. The room is pitch black, he can’t see the hesitation on Pete’s face. He must feel it then. Again, Patrick’s voice filters into Pete’s thoughts. _Why can you read me like no one else?_

“Nothing,” Pete says. He blindly looks for Patrick, wanting to pull him closer. It’s scary how this feel like a hookup. He doesn’t like it at all. He doesn’t want to have babies with Patrick and get married or fucking do any of that shit. He just wants to feel him. Wants to bury his head in Patrick’s neck and recognize the smell. “C’mere.”

When they kiss, Pete can taste alcohol and he’s not sure who it’s from. Lyrics don’t come to Pete easily anymore, because he can’t hear anyone singing them, but it’s like Patrick’s getting injected into his veins, via the fucking spit that they’re swapping, and suddenly he hears the words and Patrick’s voice clashing in his head loudly. _I WANNA SEE YOUR ANIMAL SIDE LET IT ALL OUT I WANNA SEE THE DIRT UNDER YOUR SKIN I NEED YOUR BROKEN PROMISES._

“ _What_ , Pete?” Partick pushes. He looks up at Pete from his position on the floor, shirtless and on his knees. Pete’s head spins. How did they get here? He doesn’t compose music like Patrick does, but he can _hear_ it, he swears he can. “I know something is wrong.”

“Do what you fucking came here to do,” Pete replies sharply. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, _I would_ , but you’re not even hard.” Patrick flicks at Pete’s knee. Noses at the material of Pete’s pajama pants. “I don’t get it. You’ve been wanting to fuck me since it was illegal.”

“It’s stupid,” Pete closes his eyes. Again, though. A distant memory of Patrick in the recording studio singing _Get me out of my mind and get you out of those clothes, I’m—_ “I’m a liner away from getting into the mood.”

“Yeah, you can’t fucking do that. You can’t quote us during— _this_.”

“I keep hearing you in my head,” Pete says. “Your voice. Singing old stuff, stuff we haven’t even written yet. You’re music to me, always. You’re magic, Trix, I— I don’t even fucking know you anymore but I can feel you in there, somewhere. Behind the bullshit.”

“Okay, fuck you too.” Patrick says. Sounding more tired than angry.

“That’s not— I’m just saying, I’m just saying! I miss you, I don’t know…”

For the record, they’re still in the pitch black dark. Pete changes this. He reaches over and turns on the lamp, and here, in the light, he takes Patrick in fully. The dress pants and the fancy unbuttoned shirt and tousled bleach blond hair. On his knees like he’s not used to this, but he’s willing to try.

“You confuse me,” Patrick says, his head tilted to the side. “You always have, but _you confuse me._ You sent me, and let’s just fucking review the facts here, a picture of your dick.”

“Well… yes…” Pete admits.

“You sent me a picture of your dick and your address and nothing else.”

“That… is true.”

“So why?! You’re clearly not into this.”

“I just wanted to talk!” Pete throws his hands up. “I just wanted to… lure you here. No, lure is the wrong word… hmmm… I wanted to _talk_. Because you deleted my number, and I know that, by the way. I thought that— I thought that you would have come here to curse me out, okay, and since when are you into guys?! I never got that fucking memo! I would have liked to know.”

“Oh, _you_ would have liked to know.”

“Yes, I would have! Actually! So, you know— just. There. I didn’t want you to come here for sex. I was a little drunk, I wasn’t thinking, you weren’t responding to my texts _or_ emails _or_ calls _or_ invitations to _Angels and Kings_ and I was like, if I do something so stupid, he’ll think I’m losing my mind. I didn’t think you would be such a, such a _whore_. I don’t know.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. From his spot on the floor, on his knees. “I’m not a _whore_. I just wanted to fuck someone familiar. And you can’t be mad at me for not wanting to talk to you. Really. I needed a break from you. So that when I wanted to come back to you and our friendship, I could do it without falling for you again.”

“Yeah, a break so bad that you wanted to come fuck me.” Pete scoffs. The last part of Patrick’s sentence doesn’t register, not until Patrick looks at him with a hurt expression.

Pete is the vulnerable one. Pete is the guy who dramatically sobs into the arms of his best friends. Patrick is not that person. There have been few moments when Patrick has really exposed himself like that— Patrick internalizes everything and pours it into his music. This Patrick is a stranger, yes, but This Patrick is Then Patrick and nothing about this makes sense, Pete is the one who was hopelessly in love, not Patrick, Pete is the one who is hurt, Patrick is the one who cures him, they don’t work like this. The nature of their relationship isn’t _this_.

“Fall for me…?” Pete asks softly. He closes his eyes, trying to remember anything that could be indicative of that. But he can just remember Bronx and Ashlee being his safe haven between fighting with Joe, Andy, and Patrick. “The fuck are you talking about.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Patrick says. “Maybe coming here was a mistake.”

Pete quickly reaches out, so that he can grab Patrick’s arm and pull him back towards him. “Nah, Stump. Don’t pull that shit with me. Let’s talk it out. Maybe we can get ice cream after.”

“It’s _midnight_.”

“This is _New York_.”

Patrick blinks at him, silently weighing his options. And then he gets up off his knees and sits on Pete’s bed. Not next to Pete, though, he sort of curls in onto himself a couple of inches away.

“I’m not good with words,” Patrick says after another moment.

“But I’m worse. Heh…”

Patrick makes sure that Pete looks at him when he glares at him.

“I put it into a song. Not for me. It’s very… Fall Out Boy. I was… well, trying to feel you out. I wanted to see how I would feel around you again.”

“And you thought that us having sex wouldn’t skew how you felt,” Pete says plainly.

“Not necessarily,” Patrick says. “I’ve— I mean. No, I didn’t think so. I was feeling good right up until you got real on me.”

He flashes Pete what, Pete has realized, is his first smile of their night. “I was feeling good right until you didn’t get hard for me…”

“It’s not you,” Pete says earnestly. “I was just really deep in thought. Thinking of your voice cause it haunts my thoughts. Honest to God. You don’t need me to tell you that I’ve always had feelings for you. They come to me naturally, just like music comes to you.”

Patrick smiles again, gently poking him with his toe. “It would be nice to hear it actually.”

Pete comes closer to Patrick on the bed, and Patrick shifts so that he can get into a better position. It’s no one’s fault that Pete ends up between Patrick’s spread legs.

“Okay,” Pete says. He dips down and kisses Patrick’s neck and he breathes him in. He could live in Patrick’s smell, probably. “I’ve been in love with you, on and off, since you were seventeen. I can only imagine ever writing words if you are the messenger, everything else and anyone else is stale. Because you breathe fucking life into everything that I do, we are two halves of a fucking whole.”

 _This_ feels right. They aren’t making out in a frenzy, they’re taking their sweet time with it. When Pete kisses Patrick, he fucking _kisses_ him. He runs his hands over Patrick’s bare chest and Patrick sighs into his mouth when he pinches at one of his nipples.

“You were right,” Pete murmurs into Patrick’s skin as he moves down. “I wanted to fuck you since you were illegal. This is so much fucking better though. Now we have history, I can taste you and know where you’ve been and what you’ve seen and—“

“ _Enough_ ,” Patrick groans, throwing his arm across his face, over his eyes, as Pete kisses down his chest. “Agh, stop talking unless it’s about what you’re gonna do to me.”

“Reach over and pass me the—“

Patrick accidentally hits Pete in the head with a bottle of lube, and in his head, there’s Patrick singing something that Pete hasn’t even written yet. _You know I only wanted fun, then you got me all fucked up on love._

“Are you okay?!” Patrick laughs, not even pretending to be concerned. He lifts his hips when Pete asks him too and he curls his hands into Pete’s kinky hair when Pete hums a _‘yes’_ right as he sucks the tip of Patrick’s dick into his mouth.

Pete wasn’t doing his usual bullshit dirty talk when he said that Patrick was always music to him. His heavy breathing, the way that he moves, rolling his hips with the motion as Pete eases two fingers in him. But God, for the first time in months, maybe even years, he feels attuned to it. _Pretty pout while you bottom out_ when Patrick makes a face when Pete grips his hips and thrusts into him, _Anything you say can and will be held against you so only say my name_ when Patrick sighs Pete’s name and forces them to roll over so that he’s on top.

“Didn’t think it would happen like this,” Patrick says, pressing a hand lightly over Pete’s throat. With his other hand, he steadies himself. His eyes are wide and his hair is all fucked up and his mouth is wet from keeping his mouth open and he’s so beautiful that something in Pete’s heart clenches painfully. “Kinda thought we would have angry sex or something. Isn’t that the whole shtick, that we hate each other and we pretend like we don’t have any mutual friends or that we aren’t obsessed with each other.”

Pete moves his hands down. One on Patrick’s side, the other one on Patrick’s dick. “I can be rough. I was thinking that we had a moment before, though. Before we made it all pervy by talking about how I wanted to fuck you since you were—” “Ugh, stop.”

Pete stills his movements and he raises his eyebrows. And then he laughs when Patrick presses down harder on his throat and starts moving on his own accord. “Not that. Don’t stop doing— keep going, fuck.”

It’s mostly quiet after that, because Pete was right— he can be rough. They switch positions again, until Patrick’s on his knees and he’s face-first into dirty pillows, and Pete’s whispering absolute nonsense into his neck as he pushes in harder and harder, shit like _making his sweat roll backwards, his heart beat in reverse._ He pulls on Patrick’s hair, presses open-mouthed kisses on Patrick’s sweaty neck as he listens to Patrick coming undone.

“That’s it…” Pete murmurs, feeling Patrick tighten around him. “Come on, babe.”

Patrick speaks something into the pillows something Pete can’t hear just as he comes, a sensation that Pete suddenly can feel so viscerally. It’s a very _‘hey, Patrick Stump just came to the feeling of my dick in his ass. Who would have seen this one coming?_ ’ feeling. Something that he wishes he could fucking teleport back into the past and tell a 2005 version of himself. Speak to the kid tousling in his bunk on the bed and say something stupid and shitty like _‘hey, don’t try to kill yourself, you’re gonna fuck Patrick one day’_ or something sweeter and more meaningful like _‘Patrick is so weird, he came to my apartment because I sent him a picture of my dick and I think we both declared our love for each other and it happened in such a_ Pete n Patrick _way that I can’t even be confused by it’._

Pete comes only after Patrick rolls over so that he’s on his back, only after he’s allowed to look at Patrick. The easy smile on his face, the way that Patrick runs his hand down Pete’s face, when Patrick pulls Pete in for a kiss. This is Patrick, there’s no Then Patrick or Now Patrick it’s just Patrick and he’s here in New York and he’s here in Pete’s fucking bed, and—

He comes hard. Behind his eyes, he can see not stars, not fireworks, but a crowd. Screaming fans and Patrick at the microphone screaming _I’m on fire in the dark, dark_ and Pete’s whole body feels like it’s on fire too, like he’s finally breathing air after being underwater for so long. He can finally see Fall Out Boy, can finally believe in this thing that he thought was dead. Much like his feelings for Patrick. Something he denied himself of is suddenly coming to fruition, it’s something so close he can taste it.

He leans over and licks a line of sweat on Patrick’s face. He laughs when Patrick pushes him away and calls him gross, and he laughs even harder when Patrick makes a noise of protest at the feeling of Pete being away from him, even though he’s the one who did it.

“Um…” Patrick says, after Pete ties the condom and adds it to the pile of garbage on the floor. “I feel obligated to go say hi to Travie. I saw him when you were offering to take my jacket, he saw my face and paled and walked away and I feel like I owe him an apology for the fighting and then the. You know. Loud sex.”

“You don’t owe Travie shit,” Pete says. “But… if you’re still up for ice cream we could invite him.”

“Are you kidding, _of course_ I’m still up for ice cream.”

“Okay, just asking!”

There’s a silence. This isn’t necessarily basking in the afterglow, although this is definitely an afterglow. Mostly because Pete is close to tears with how overcome with emotion he is. Mostly because Pete can’t stop looking over at Patrick in his bed, not because this was the best sex he’s had in months, but because it’s Patrick.

“So, you were serious about the… you know. Falling for me thing,” Pete asks, quietly. He turns on his side to look at Patrick, who’s peeling his translucent-with-sweat shirt off. “Like. That wasn’t just a slip of the tongue type thing.”

“I don’t want to be in love with you if you don’t love me back,” Patrick says, which is just about how earnest Patrick can get. “But… and don’t get me wrong here, it’s not that I don’t _want_ to date you-”

“Oh _God_.”

“It’s just that… well, I don’t date guys I’m in bands with.”

Pete blinks. “Since when was that a rule? I would have broken up Fall Out Boy years ago if it meant I could be with you.”

And then he laughs half-heartedly when Patrick glares. “Heh… kidding… think of the fans..”

“It’s a rule now. I don’t want it to come between the band. _If_ we get the band back together.”

“But you are in love with me. Just trying to clarify something in my head.”

“Correct.”

“Okay,” Pete says, drumming his fingers against Patrick’s come covered stomach. And when he makes a face when he gets it on his hand. “So how about this one. How about we date before we get the band back together. _If_ we get the band back together. Then, you aren’t dating someone you’re in a band with. And then, by the time we actually convince Joe to join back, you’re gonna be too in love with me to break up with me.”

Patrick tries to hide his laughter. “Oh, so you’re gonna manipulate me. Okay.”

“It’s not manipulation! It’s… it’s Stockholm Syndrome but nicer!”

“That _is_ manipulation, Pete!” Patrick shoves at Pete’s shoulders gently, but he doesn’t look mad. Just… frustrated at the stakes here. “Like, what makes you so sure we’re not going to make the same mistakes. What happens if we break up and you hate me and I hate you and—”

“Just like how we ‘hate’ each other now? Babe, I’m always gonna come crawling back to you. I’m always gonna… do something dumb like send you pictures of my dick.”

“Don’t send me pictures of your dick,” Patrick says, before he pauses. “Well. _Sometimes_ send me pictures of your dick. But I’m being serious, okay, we’re not any more mature than we were a year and a half ago.”

“We’re magic together,” Pete says. “Everyone knows it. I know it, you know it. I’m the words, you’re the music. We both took a break to get away from each other and we both had this weird mindmeld that told us to come back. I had this urge to hit you up, you felt something that said ‘ _yeah, let me actually go and see what the fuck this guy is up to’_ I— I felt something, okay, and it wasn’t just because you were riding my dick. I don’t have to hide who I am around you, I never have to do that bullshit with you.

“I know you don’t have to hide who you are around me,” Patrick grins. “You didn’t even clean your dirty ass room before you invited me here.”

“I was going to keep the light off!” Pete argues. “And hey, you’re changing the subject.”

“Yeah, I know. Because you’re convincing me and that’s scaring me.”

Patrick shifts until he’s sitting up, and he prompts Pete to do the same.

“I guess this is the universe sending us a sign…” Patrick says, gesturing between the two of them. “Us both being single and being in the same city and everything. But I’m leaving tomorrow, I—”

“So you leave tomorrow. I can put my number back in your phone. I wouldn’t cheat on you if _that’s_ what—”

“That’s _not_ , that’s not what I mean. Also I never deleted your number, I-- I’m just saying. You’d… you’d wait for me?”

Pete loves Patrick but _God_ , sometimes he is so stupid.

“Of course I’d wait for you. No offense, I’ve been waiting for you, for like… _years…_ so…”

And then he laughs, something _real_ and full of hope and excitement for the future, when Patrick rolls over and tackles him.

Maybe this semi-FOB reunion didn’t happen the way either of them expected. Neither of them thought they would be at the point where Patrick would be straddling Pete’s lap and dipping down to kiss him in between complaining about Pete mentioning the illegal thing too many times. But _fuck_ if Pete is going to complain.

So maybe there _are_ some perks in regards to taking nudes. This definitely erases the negative feelings from the _last_ time…  

**Author's Note:**

> havent written Pete and Patrick as not eapotato versions of them that I think I forgot how to. so this is practice. but also a birthday present to me for 4 years on AO3. thanks for the memories :) y'all know im abt to--
> 
> thanks for the memories even tho they weren't so great he tastes like you only sweeter!! woah!!!!!! been looking forward to the future but my eyesight is going bad and this crystal ball is always cloudy for when you look into the past (look into the past) one (one) night (night) stand (one night stand OH!) thanks for the memories even tho they weren't so great he tastes like you only sweeter thanks for the memories thanks for the memories I only think in the form of crunching numbers in hotel rooms collecting page 6 lovers get me out of my mind and get you out of those clothes im a liner away from getting you into the mood woah one night and one more time! thanks for the memories thanks for the memories see! he! tastes like you only sweeter! thanks for the memories thanks for the memories he tastes like you only sweeter!!!!! woahohahhaahhha! 
> 
> tumblr: thatbluelight
> 
> PS dont be like Pete and send unsolicited dick pics :/


End file.
